


Three Times (Depending on the Way Your Hands Feel in Mine)

by ArtsyAfrodite



Series: And Slowly We Piece Ourselves Unbroken [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Boyfriends, Domestic, Gallavich, M/M, My attempt at fluff, fluff?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-13
Updated: 2014-08-13
Packaged: 2018-02-12 22:41:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2127216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtsyAfrodite/pseuds/ArtsyAfrodite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“About three times,” Mickey finally says as he stops to pump more lotion into his hands.  He can tell Ian is enjoying this way too much and he’s not going to stop now.  Besides, there was a bravery granted to him by the way Ian’s hands felt in his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Times (Depending on the Way Your Hands Feel in Mine)

**Author's Note:**

> This is part 3 of my series - and also my attempt at fluff (or what is considered fluff in comparison to my writing lol). I tired to get some feels in there. :)

“How many times would you say this happens?”

Mickey tightens his jaw, making the muscles dance before he smiles dismissively at Ian’s question.  He wishes he could blame alcohol for his word vomit, but no – this is _all_ him.  “Do I need to explain myself?” he asks Ian as he leans against the Gallagher’s living room wall.  Ian’s face remains straight as he sits on the couch, but Mickey can practically smell the smugness emanating off of him.  It’s a scent he must admit he craves.

“I’d like to know,” Ian says through a small smile.  “I’m curious.”

Mickey shoots his eyes quickly to the living room floor looking for courage down there, somewhere, anywhere, because he certainly is lacking some at this very moment.  It’s awkward, because Ian always makes him fearless, especially when it comes to his feelings, but this – this is a big one.  He makes his way over to the couch, sliding next to his boyfriend, his stomach still full from the spaghetti dinner Fiona made, but the swelling feeling in his chest diminishes the sensation.  He always feels light from the things Ian manages to make him feel.

He looks down at Ian’s hands, slightly dry from the soapy water.  After dinner, he’d decided to do the dishes to help Fiona out.  She was always working crazy hours at Patsy’s Pies, but still managed to find the strength to cook big dinners at least three times a week.  She always invited Ian and Mickey to join, which they made sure to take advantage of as much as possible.  Mickey also found it important to be a prominent part of not only Ian’s life, but his family’s as well.  Their time together since he’s been back from the hospital certainly hasn’t been as easy as he thought it would be, but they were making strides every day.  He knew how much dinnertime with the Gallaghers meant to Ian.   

Mickey had found it amusing, but cute, that Ian offered to do the dishes after dinner – until the red head dragged him into helping him.  He’d protested of course, but as soon as he got the chin from Ian, he’d reluctantly obliged.  The chin meant business and Mickey knew better than to challenge that.  He would have done it without the look anyway. 

Such is the life of human putty – specifically in Ian’s hands.

 

_“That was fucking delicious,” Mickey said through a long breath.  Fiona’s spaghetti always managed to hit the spot and he was convinced he could eat it every day for the rest of his life._

_Fiona smiled as she began to gather the plates off of the table, Carl and Debbie already making their way upstairs to tackle homework, taking Liam with them.  “Glad you enjoyed,” she said as she made her way to the sink.  “Then again, you always enjoy.”_

_“That’s because he’s a greedy bastard,” Ian laughed as he stood from the kitchen table.  He earned a death glare from Mickey, but simply responded with a run of his fingers through his hair which quickly transformed the scowl into a smile.  He then turned his attention to Fiona.  She looked tired.  “I’ll do the dishes Fi,” Ian offered as he stood next to his sister at the sink._

_“Ian, you don’t have to, I’m fine.”_

_“You’re tired,” he pressed, “I can tell.  Let me get them.  Mick will help.”_

_Mickey let out a loud scoff.  “The hell I wi – “  He stopped mid word when Ian jutted his chin out at him, narrowing his eyes.  “Fine,” he said reluctantly.  Fuck, as if he had a choice now._

 

Ian raises a brow, waiting for his much needed explanation to satiate his curiosity.  But Mickey has other business before he can do that.  He grabs the baby lotion Fiona uses for Liam, and Yevgeny when he’s over, off of the floor by the couch and squirts some into his palm.  He subsequently grabs both of Ian’s hands and begins to rub the lotion into them, ever so often massaging circles into the palms with his thumbs.  He pays close attention to each of Ian’s fingers, pulling his thumb and index fingers down each one with just enough pressure.  Ian smirks, because he knows this tactic and he’s more than hip to it.

“Not gonna work Mick,” he says as he stares at the concentration lines in his boyfriend’s forehead.  Mickey knows hand massages are one of his soft spots, but Ian isn’t going to let this distract him, not tonight.  He fights the urge to sigh and lean back into the couch, because goodness, Mickey’s so good with his hands.  “Mick,” Ian struggles to say through a sigh.  It’s starting to feel too good.

“Want me to stop?” Mickey asks, finally looking up.  He grins satisfyingly when he notices a heaviness slowly coming over Ian’s eyelids. 

“Yes – I mean no,” Ian says, finally leaning into the couch.  “But I know what you’re doing.  You’re trying to distract me - trying to avoid telling me.”

“No,” Mickey counters, “you know how rough your hands get if you don’t put lotion on them after you do fucking dishes.  I don’t want a chafed dick when you jerk me off later.”  But Mickey knows he’s actually trying to coax Ian into dropping the conversation with a hand massage.

Ian lets out a huge snort, because Mickey is right.  Even using lube when his hands get rough doesn’t help.  His laughter subsides as his eyes flutter closed.  He knows Mickey thinks his tactic is working, but it isn’t – damned close, but it isn’t.  He opens his eyes ready for war and turns his head so he’s now looking directly into blue eyes, his hands still under attack.  “How many times?” Ian asks again.

Mickey looks back down at Ian’s hands, taking in every detail of them as he continues to rub. He admires the length of his fingers, the freckles sprayed across the top of his hand extending to his wrist and up his arms.  But it’s the palms that always get him – they always look ready to cradle his own, as if they were designed for his hands to fit perfectly into them.  And this is one of the times, and reasons.  It makes his heart stutter at the thought.  Mickey thinks as he feels the courage to finally enlighten Ian.  His tongue had certainly gotten away from him while helping with the dishes, and there was no need to bridle it now.

 

_Fiona let out a sigh of relief, wrapping her arms around both boys as they stood side by side at the sink.  “You two are angels,” she said as she squeezed them around their waists.  Ian leaned into the hug while Mickey just stood there stone stiff like a gargoyle._

_“No problem Fi,” Ian said as he shot Mickey another glare._

_“Yeah, no problem,” Mickey said flatly._

_Fiona made her way upstairs to finally take a load off of her feet.  Ian began to fill the sink with water and dish detergent as Mickey piled the plates, silverware and cups next to him.  “Stop frowning,” Ian said without even having to look at him.  “This is nice isn’t it?  Being domestic and doing dishes together.”_

_“Yeah, real nice,” Mickey huffed sarcastically._

_“Stop being an ass right now.”_

_“Fuck off,” Mickey bit._

_Ian dropped a fork into the water and turned to face Mickey.  “I’m trying to be cute and have us act like boyfriends here and you’re ruining it.”_

_“Relax,” Mickey responded as he dried a plate, “it ain’t that big of a deal.”_

_“To you maybe,” Ian said sternly.  And there it was.  How easily he could get agitated sometimes._

_Mickey let out a long breath before turning his attention back to Ian.  “Look, don’t get upset over this, alright?”_

_Ian turned back around, dropping his eyes to the soapy water.  He was gripping the dish rag with his right hand while he ran his finger around the edge of a plate under the water.  “Sometimes I feel like you don’t want to outwardly act like we’re boyfriends Mick,” Ian said as he continued to look into the water, “like you don’t enjoy being a couple or something.”_

_Mickey began to shake his head incredulously as he looked at Ian.  “What?” he barked.  “The hell are you talkin’ about Ian?  Where’s this coming from?”_

_Ian didn’t answer him, just simply shrugged as he kept his eyes focused on the water.  Mickey quickly felt himself getting riled up, but inwardly told himself to calm down, because he knew how sensitive Ian could get sometimes.  And maybe he was right, but Mickey was still getting used to this whole couple thing.  He ran his hands down his face before turning his entire body so it was facing Ian._

_“You know I’m trying Ian,” Mickey said, his voice a lot softer.  “This how you really feel?”_

_“Sometimes, yeah,” Ian said, now looking over at Mickey._

_“Right,” Mickey said as he crossed his arms, “because it’s not like I don’t love you or anything, or it’s not like I don’t fall in love with you all over again multiple times a day.”  Before Mickey could catch his words, they had already fallen out of his mouth, loud and heavy, the weight of what he just said apparent in how wide Ian’s eyes suddenly became._

_He turned around and walked out of the kitchen, making his way into the living room without another word, leaving Ian to finish the dishes alone, his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes even wider than before._

“About three times,” Mickey finally says as he stops to pump more lotion into his hands.  He can tell Ian is enjoying this way too much and he’s not going to stop now.  Besides, there was a bravery granted to him by the way Ian’s hands felt in his.  “I fall in love with you all over again like three times a day man,” he admits again.

Ian lets a lazy smile spread across his lips as he eyes Mickey, his body sinking more and more into the couch cushions.  “Can you tell me when?”

Mickey thinks for a moment, feeling real exposed right now, because expressing his feelings makes him feel turned inside out.  He swallows the feeling as he rubs more circles into the lines of Ian’s palms.  “Well, there’s when you wake up in the morning.  It’s when you first open your eyes.  Then there’s the way you smile at me whenever I get home from the Alibi.  It’s like you’re seeing me for the first time, every time.”  He stops to gather his words, the heaviness of everything spilling over his tongue starting to get overwhelming.  But Ian’s eyes are fluttering and looking at him expectantly. 

“That’s two,” Ian says.

“Well,” Mickey continues, “it’s also when you kiss the back of my neck at night before we go to sleep – when we’re _spooning_ or whatever.”  Mickey smiles because he hates calling it spooning.  He’s gone back and forth with Ian more than a few times about how it isn’t cuddling or spooning, Ian always winning the argument with the way he manages to prove his point, lining his body snugly against his in bed at night.  Actions always spoke louder than words with Ian. 

Ian sits up, it’s hard, but he manages to straighten his body into a more upright position as he looks at Mickey.  “Wow,” he says, that shit eating grin still present.  “So we’re about even then.”

“Even?” Mickey asks as he raises a brow now in his own curiosity.

“Yeah, even.  Because that’s when it happens for me too,” Ian says, blush starting to spread across his cheeks.  “When I first look at you when I wake up, when you first come home, and at night before I fall asleep…right after I kiss the back of your neck.”

“Shit, we sound so fucking gay right now,” Mickey laughs, followed by a huge snort from Ian.  But it doesn’t matter because it’s true.  “But I may have you beat.”

“Oh?” Ian inquires.

“It’s three times,” Mickey says with a lot more seriousness in his tone, “depending on the way your hands feel in mine.  Because then, that makes it four.”  Ian tightens his grip as Mickey continues to look down at how his hands fit perfectly in Ian’s. 

And he feels ok that he marvels at the sight.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic to the song, "Hand-Made" by Alt-J, on repeat. I have this thing for the significance of hands, and was inspired to write this for the series. I also wanted to write something somewhat fluffy? This can also be an attempt at them being domestic. This kind of also counts as the second "I love you," which I didn't indicate, but I hope it came across. As always, you bless me with your reading. :)


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